"That's the very thing!" muttered Tom Reade at last.
"It can't get us into any scrape with the law, can it?" queriedDave Darrin, with almost unwonted caution.
"I don't see how it can," smiled Dick Prescott. "I'm no lawyer, but I can't see how our trick, the way we intend to play it, can be called a breach of the law."
"Let's not lose any time with the game," urged Reade. "Let's get in and do it before Dodge and Bayliss come back. I wonder where they are, anyway?"
"I don't care where they are," said Dave, "as long as they keep away from here until we're through with what we intend to do."
From its place in the runabout car Tom drew forth a wheel-jack. This he and Dave fitted under an axle, raising the wheel half aft inch off the ground. Dick rapidly remove the tire from that front wheel.
By the time he had finished Tom ran with the jack around to the other front wheel, removing the tire from it also.
As the red runabout carried no extra tires the little car was now hopelessly stalled until relief was brought to the scene.
"Now, I'll slip back and bring the fellows on," Dick whispered. "Tom, you take Dave down to the camp site. I'll be right along with the other fellows."
Tom and Dave started along the forest path, each carrying a tire slung over one shoulder.
Dick, darting back, brought up the other fellows. All took a gleeful look at the red Smattach as they passed, then hurried on.
Down to a level bit of ground at the lakeside Dick led the last of his friends. Tom and Dave were already there, the two pneumatic tires standing against the trunk o a tree.
Dick's first move was to take a rope from the cart. This, after being passed through the rubber tires, was tied between two trees, clothesline fashion.
"Now, let's rustle all the stuff off the cart," urged Dick. "Be quick about it. We want the tent up in good shape before darkness falls."
It is not much of a trick to raise a tent twelve feet by twenty, when there are six pairs of hands to do it. The two centre poles were adjusted to the ridge-pole, and all three were pushed in under the canvas.
"Up with her," called Dick.
As the tent was raised, Tom and Greg were left holding the centre poles in place. With a sledge Dick drove a corner stake, and a guy-rope was made fast to it. One after another the remaining corner stakes were quickly driven and the ropes made fast. The tent would now stand by itself.
Dick and Dave, Tom and Greg now attended to two stakes at a time, making the other guy-ropes fast.
"Danny, you may set in all the wall-pegs," said Dick, standing back to survey the really neat job.
"I've been thinking——-" began Dalzell.
"Then let Hazelton do the wall-pegging," retorted Dick tersely.
"I've been thinking——-" Dalzell went on, "that it would be awfully funny, wouldn't it, if that red Smattach belonged, not to Dodge, but to some fellow we've never seen before?"
"It would be inexpressibly funny!" growled Tom Reade. "And what would be funnier than anything else would be our frantic efforts to make a satisfactory explanation."
"We could be arrested for theft, couldn't we?" asked Greg, glancing up apprehensively from the side wall pegging.
"Hardly that," replied Dick, with a shake of his head. "Theft, as I understand it, usually carries with it the sale of the plunder, or its concealment. We have hung up the tires where anyone who is interested may see them. Still, it would be awkward making explanations to strangers, and we'd all feel mighty cheap."
"Then maybe we'll have our chance to feel that way," suggestedDanny Grin, his mouth opening still wider.
"Don't waste your time on pleasant thoughts, like that," gruntedReade. "Try to think of something sad."
"If it's the Dodge car, could Bert make any trouble for us?" Darrin wanted to know.
"Hardly," answered young Prescott. "We've simply played a clever trick on Dodge and Bayliss. As our excuse we could point out a trick they palmed off on us earlier in the day. We'd be quits. You needn't fear Dodge. Never, since that time when he got so awfully beaten over the assault charge he made against me, has he felt that he wanted to face me in court again."
"You fellows wait here, and don't be worried if I don't come back soon," interposed Darry suddenly.
"What are you going to do?" demanded Tom Reade.
But Dave had slipped away. When he chose to be as mysterious as that, Dick Prescott knew better than to question his chum.
Rapidly the work of straightening camp proceeded. Dave was back in a little more than half an hour. Yet he returned so noiselessly that he was in camp before the others realized his presence.
"Well——-?" asked Dick eagerly.
"Come into the tent, fellows," whispered Dave.
When Darrin had them inside he went on, in a low voice:
"It's the Dodge car, all right. I hid behind a tree nearby the car and waited until they returned. When they found the front tires missing they were furious. Bayliss said we fellows had done it, but Bert said he didn't believe we were anywhere near here as yet. I slipped away and left them arguing. Dodge wants Bayliss to walk to the nearest place where he can telephone to a garage to send a man out with new tires. Bayliss says it's the Dodge car, and Bert can do the walking. It looks as though they would come to blows, and, as I've been gently reared, with a distaste for fighting, I slipped away."
"If they want to come down and look along the edge of this lake, they'll soon find out where their tires are," Dick Prescott chuckled. "But they'll have to come right in here to camp and ask for their property."
"Which they won't greatly care about doing," laughed Reade.
"Let them stay away until their nerves improve, then," said Dick briefly. "Now, let's see; we've got to set up the cots and bedding, and get the two lanterns filled and trimmed for the evening. That ought not to take many minutes."
Nor did it. When this had been done, Dick asked:
"Fellows, you know what we came here to do? Fish wouldn't taste bad for supper, would it? Which two of you want to go and try your luck for perch? They'll bite, even after dark."
Tom and Hazelton made a hasty selection of tackle, also producing a can of bait that had been brought along from Gridley.
Then Tom and Harry disappeared, taking with them one of the lanterns. A quarter of a mile below the camp were the ruins of an old pier from which they could cast their lines.
Where the perch are plentiful there is little skill involved in such fishing. Perch will bite after dark. The hook is baited and dropped in. The fish take hold greedily, rarely falling from the hook afterward.
While Tom and Harry were still fishing darkness fell. The two Gridley boys fished on in silence, adding frequently to the two crotched stick "strings" that flopped on the end of the pier.
"We've thirty-nine perch. That's enough, even for a hungry crowd like ours," said Tom at last, after lighting the lantern.
"Here is the fortieth, then," called Hazelton, as he felt a tug at his line. He landed a pound perch almost under Tom's nose.
"Good enough business, this," declared Tom contentedly. "I hope the fellows have everything else ready."
Tom carried the lantern; each boy carried a string of fish. As they neared camp, Danny Grin espied them, and ran forward to see the size of the catch.
"Here they are!" called Dalzell. "They've fish enough to feed a fat men's boarding house!"
"Bring them here," called Dick from a board beside which he andGreg crouched, each with a knife in hand.
One after another the fish were scaled and cleaned with a speed known only to old campers. Dave had two frying pans hot over a fire. In went the perch, sputtering in the fat and giving forth appetizing odors.
"My, but they're going to taste good!" declared Danny Grin.
Leaving Greg to finish with the cleaning of the fish Dick passed to another campfire, throwing into a hot pan the material for fried potatoes.
Ere long the meal was on the table—-two boards placed across the tops of two boxes. It was a low table, but it served the purpose.
"My, but this fish tastes good!" murmured Tom Reade, as he picked a piece of fried perch free of the backbone and began eating it.
"We'll all of us find it the best meal ever, just because we've tramped far enough and worked hard enough to make any kind of decent food taste great," Dick smiled.
The supper over, and one of the campfires replenished, all six of the youngsters took the dishes down to the lake, carrying along two kettles of hot water, where a general dish-washing ensued. With so many to do the work, the camp was spick and span within twenty minutes.
"Now, I'm going to enjoy one thing that I haven't had all day, and that's some real rest," Prescott declared, throwing himself down upon the grass. "I don't believe I shall move until bedtime."
But he did. Already trouble was hovering over the camp. From out of the darkness beyond three pairs of eyes studied the campers in silence. One pair belonged to Bert Dodge, another the young Bayliss, and the third to a man of about middle age.
Dodge and Bayliss were thoroughly angry.
Ten minutes after Dick had thrown himself on the grass a rustling was heard above the camp. Then down the slope strode three figures.
Dick sat up, regarding the visitors in silence until they came within the fringe of the light of the campfire.
"Hello, Dodge," was Prescott's ready greeting. "I didn't hear you knock."
"Then maybe you will, before long," retorted Bert, in a voice of barely suppressed fury. "Prescott, you sneak, how long since you have added grand larceny to your other bad habits?"
"Try that over again," requested Dick calmly. "I don't believeI quite catch you."
"Yes, you do," Dodge retorted. "Come now, no lying about it."
"The nearest that I come to understanding you, as yet," Dick answered in an unruffled voice, "is that you appear to be trying to be offensive."
"I'll be more than offensive with you, before I get through!" cried Bert, his temper rising.
The third member of the visiting party was a man of about forty years, of sandy complexion and with a stubby, bristling red moustache. He looked like a man who had been born a fighter, though his face expressed keen attention rather than a desire to be quarrelsome. In dress this man looked as though he might be a farmer. Dick and his friends judged the man to be a rustic constable.
"A nice trick you played on us!" Bert went on angrily. "You took our front tires off the wheels of the car and ran away with them."
"Easy! Careful!" Dick smilingly advised. "Did anyone see us take the tires off and run away with them?"
Bert looked astonished, then gulped chokingly. Did Prescott and his friends intend to deny the charge?
"No one had to see you take the tires," Bert went on angrily. "All that is necessary is for us to discover the merchandise on you!"
"Then you have missed some tires, and you think I'm wearing them?"Dick chuckled.
"Don't try to sneak, lie or equivocate" commanded Bert Dodge, his face flushing with anger. "Those are my tires hanging from that line!"
"Are they?" Prescott inquired, in a tone of the mildest curiosity.
"You know they are!"
"Then, if the tires are your property, just help yourself!" Dick coolly answered. "If they are your tires, I will even offer to forego making any storage charges for the time they have been. hanging there."
"Hang you!" choked Bert
Then he turned to the man with them, demanding:
"Don't you see a pretty clear case of grand larceny here?"
"I can't sa-ay that I do—-yet," drawled the stranger.
"You'll never see a clearer case!" quivered young Dodge.
To this the stranger did not reply. He had been looking over this sextette of high school boys, and if one might judge from his face, the man seemed to be rather favorably impressed by Dick & Co.
"If these are your tires," Dick went on smoothly, "would you mind removing them from our camp?"
"I won't," Bert answered hotly. "You fellows, who stole the tires, will take them back to the car from which you stole them, and there you will put the tires on again."
"You've missed some part of the idea in your haste," declared young Prescott.
"What do you mean?" gasped Dodge.
"I mean simply that we'll have nothing whatever to do with taking back the tires, or putting them on your wheels."
"Then I'll see what I can do to punish you all!" flared Bert hotly."You're none of you any better than a lot of low-lived thieves!"
The situation was growing too warm for Dave Darrin, though Dick was still smiling.
Darry jumped to his feet, advancing upon Bert Dodge, who retreated a couple of steps.
"Dodge," Dave began, "you want to put a halter on your tongue. You can't come here to this camp and call too many names. You don't amount to much, of course, and nothing that you know how to say should be treated very seriously. It would be hard for a rascal like yourself to be really insulting to anyone possessed of the average degree of honor. But we came up here for pleasure and rest. Both your face and your voice—-not particularly your words—-are disturbing. If those are your tires, kindly take them and get out of camp!"
"You fellows will carry the tires back to the road, and you'll put them on the wheels," retorted Dodge hoarsely.
"As Dick has already told you, we'll do nothing of the sort," Dave flashed back at him. "All we want, Dodge, is for you to get out of this camp. Incidentally, if you want the tires, we shall offer no objections to your taking them with you."
"What have you to say to that?" demanded Bert hotly, turning to the man with the stubby red mustache.
"It seems to me like good judgment," replied the stranger.
"You say that?" screamed Bert, going into a blind passion. "Is that what we brought you here for?"
"I don't really know what you did bring me here for," replied the stranger. "All I know is that you stopped me, when I was driving past with my load of produce for the Gridley markets, and you offered me two dollars to come down here and not say much unless I was spoken to. I didn't come until you paid me the money. It was good pay, and I'll stay here an hour longer if you really think I owe you that much time."
"You're not a constable, or a sheriff's officer, are you, sir?" asked Dick pleasantly.
"Not unless someone made me one when I wasn't looking," replied the stranger, with a shrewd smile.
"I understand," nodded Prescott. "This fellow Dodge hired you to come down with him for more than one reason. In the first place, he and Bayliss were afraid to come here without backing. For another thing, Dodge thought that we'd guess you to be a constable, and I'll admit that I did mistake you for an officer at the outset. Dodge thought your presence would frighten us. You look like a decent man, sir, and I'm sorry to see you in such company. These two fellows were chased out of the Gridley High School just because they were considered unfit to associate with the members of the student body."
"That's a lie!" sputtered young Dodge.
"If you want to find out, sir, whether I'm speaking the truth," Dick went on, looking at the stranger, "just ask any well-informed citizen of Gridley whether Bert Dodge and his chum, Bayliss, were really chased out of the Gridley High School. You'll soon discover who the liar is—-Dodge or myself."
"Hang you!" roared Bert, advancing with fists clenched. "I'll punch your head off your shoulders!"
"Wait one moment, though," advised the stranger, stepping betweenDick and Bert. "Here, young man!"
"What's this?" Bert demanded, as the stranger forced something into one of his hands.
"It's the two-dollar bill you handed me," replied he of the stubby moustache. "I reckon that I made a mistake in taking it."
"Aren't you on my side any longer?" gasped Bert, in utter astonishment.
"I reckon not," was the crisp answer. "I didn't realize thatI was in such bad company."
"But you've only that mucker's word against mine!" cried Bert, flying into another rage.
"I've watched you both, and I'm a pretty good judge of human nature," replied the farmer. "I prefer to believe this young man that you seem to dislike so much."
"You're a nice one—-you are!" uttered Bert, glaring in disgust at the ally on whom he had counted.
"Perhaps you can calm down, Dodge, long enough to listen to reason," Dick suggested. "First of all, I am going to admit that we did remove the front tires of your car and that we brought the tires here and hung them on that line."
"Do you hear that?" demanded Dodge eagerly, turning once more to the farmer. "They admit stealing my tires."
"I didn't quite notice that the young man went as far as to admit theft," the farmer replied. "What I heard was that these young men took your tires. As yet I haven't heard their reason for removing the tires of your car."
"The reason for doing so was," Dick went on coolly, "that we had some questions to ask of this fellow Dodge. We knew that if he had to come here to look up his tires, we'd have a chance to ask the questions. Dodge, you thought you were having fun with us when you decorated the entrance to that covered bridge with your notice about a rabid mastiff at large in that part of the country, didn't you? You thought that a mad-dog scare would send us helter-skelter home. If it gives you any satisfaction, I'll admit that the notice did startle us for a brief time. But we soon got at the truth of the matter, and learned that posting the notice was your act."
"Can you prove it?" sneered Dodge.
Ignoring the question, Dick went on:
"Perhaps, had your trick affected only ourselves, then the trick would have been only a piece of meanness without any very serious results. But are you sure, Bert Dodge, that no one but ourselves was alarmed by that notice? Do you know whether any woman traveling over the road may have seen that notice, and then, noticing any strange dog trotting in her direction was frightened, into convulsions, or actually frightened to death? Do you know whether some man, traveling along the road on really important business, read the notice and was afraid to continue on his errand, thereby losing a good deal of money through your foolish trickery? Do you know, for certain, that twenty serious consequences to other people have not followed on the heels of your stupid, senseless joke? Have you any way of being certain that the sheriffs officers are not already searching industriously for the two foolish young fellows who took so many desperate chances in attempting such a 'joke' as that of which you two fellows were guilty?"
"Who's going to prove that Bayliss or I put up that notice?" sneered young Dodge.
"There's at least one witness," Dick answered, "who would testify, at any time, that he passed by you on the road when you were both laughing loudly over a joke you had played. Then there's the notice itself. A handwriting expert could swear that it was done with a pen held by your hand."
"Where's the notice?" asked Bayliss suddenly.
"It's where we can produce it at any time that it's wanted," Prescott made reply. "If anyone has been injured, Dodge, in health or in business, by your stupid, brainless bit of horse play and meanness, then I imagine that you'll find yourself in for a serious time of it. So now you know why we took the tires off your automobile. We knew that our campfire would show you the way to our camp, and that you'd surely be here to hear what we had to say to you. Dodge, we don't care particularly for you, or for Bayliss, either, but if the warning I've given you about pasting up such lying notices to scare people traveling over a public highway is of any use to you, then you're welcome to what you've learned."
The coolness of this proposition was such as to take Bert's breath away for a few seconds. When he recovered, he turned to the red-moustached farmer, sputtering:
"Well, what do you—-you think of that cast-iron nerve and cheek?"
"If the facts have been correctly stated," replied the farmer, "I believe these young men have done you a service, and that you'd show more of the spirit of a man if you admitted it."
"Humph!" muttered Dodge.
"Humph!" echoed Bayliss.
Then, enraged at the tantalizing smile on Prescott's face, Bert lost all control of himself.
Striding over, he shook his fist before Dick's face, at the same time shouting:
"All you need is a trimming with fists, and I'm going to give you one—-you hound!"
Then, struck by a sudden consideration of prudence, Bert stepped back two or three feet, looking appealingly at the farmer.
"Will you stay here long enough to see fair play done?" Dodge demanded of the farmer.
"If there is going to be a boxing exhibit, with plenty of science, and all fair play," grinned the farmer, "I don't believe there are enough of you young fellows here to chase me away. Start things moving as soon as you like."
With that the stranger drew out a pipe, which he proceeded to fill and light.
"Get yourself in shape, you mucker!" breathed Bert fiercely, pulling off his coat and tossing his motoring cap after it to the ground. "Come on—-get ready!"
"I'm no rowdy," Dick declared coolly, making no move to put himself in readiness.
"No; you're a coward, with a long line of talk, but no spirit in you!" jeered young Dodge.
"If I'm a coward, what possible glory would there be in your fighting me?" Dick smiled.
"Let me have the sneak!" begged Dave, stepping forward, but Dick pushed his churn back. Tom Reade took tight hold of Dave's right arm.
With the prospects of an encounter vanishing, Bert Dodge's valor went up tenfold.
"Get up your guard!" he roared. "I've been taking boxing lessons and I want to teach you one or two things."
"I haven't been taking any boxing lessons lately," Dick remarked with composure.
"Oh, that's why you're afraid to act at all like a man, is it?" scoffed Bert in his harshest voice.
"No; my main reason for not caring to fight you, Dodge, is thatI don't like the idea of soiling my hands."
"What's that?" screamed Bert in added fury. "You insult me—-you—-you mucker?"
"If I'm a mucker, then you don't need to feel insulted at my opinion of you," Dick suggested, with a smile.
But this hesitancy on the part of Prescott was filling Bert Dodge with more valor every instant.
"Prescott, I've owed you something for a mighty long time," quiveredBert. "And now it's coming! Here it is!"
He aimed a savage blow at Dick. Young Prescott, who had really doubted that Dodge had courage enough to invite a fight, was not expecting it. The blow landed on Dick's chin, sending the leader of Dick & Co to the ground.
"Now, get up and answer that—-you—-you sneak!" dared Bert exultantly.
Dick was on his feet fast enough, side-stepping just in time to dodge a follow-up punch.
"Dodge," Dick remarked, as he threw up his guard, "there, is still time for you to beat it out of here if you don't want to take the consequences of that blow."
"You put me out of here!" Bert retorted defiantly.
Though Dick was quivering with indignation, he still hesitated to spring at Dodge. Dick didn't want to fight, on the sole ground that he felt too much contempt for his opponent.
"Come, on, you mucker!" challenged Bert, dancing about Prescott.Then Dodge delivered two swift, straight-from-the-shoulder blows.
Of a sudden Dick jumped into the fray.
"Good!" quivered Darry, his eyes flashing. To Dave's way of thinking, Dick's swift vigorous defence should have followed that first knock-down.
"Come on, you mucker!" taunted Bert, while the interchange of blows now became fast and furious. "If there's anything you know how to do in this game, let us see what it is! Trot it out!"
"I'll attend to my side of this match," said Dick quietly. "My advice to you is that you keep quiet and save your wind for your own protection."
"Bosh! You can't do anything to anyone in my class!" sneered Bert. Indeed, young Dodge's address to his task opened up particularly well. Dodge was rather heavy for his years, and he had been doing some good training work through the spring and early summer.
Dick, who was lighter and not noticeably quicker, confined himself, at the outset, to his old tactics of allowing his opponent to tire himself.
Bert, however, was soon quick to discover this. He moderated the savagery of his own attack somewhat, sparring cleverly for a chance to feint and then land a face blow.
Dick gave ground readily when it served his purpose, though he did not run.
"Keep back, fellows!" called Tom Reade. "Don't get near enough to interfere with either man."
"Don't interfere with either the man or the thing, you mean," interposed Danny Grin.
"Shut up, Dalzell!" ordered Reade with generous roughness. "Remember that you're not fighting Dodge, and that it's unfair to say anything to anger him. Be fair!"
Though Dick's chums followed the fighters, at a generous distance, they would have noticed, had they been less intent on the work of the combatants, that Bayliss kept well on the outskirts of the crowd. Bayliss didn't want to attract any dangerous notice to himself, nor was he at all sure that the farmer would interfere to see fair play for Dodge's side. In this, however, he really wronged the farmer.
In giving ground Prescott stepped backward, his feet becoming entangled with a vine running along the ground.
Down went Dick, just in time to save himself from a savage blow in the face.
"Stand up to the fight, like a man!" roared Dodge, for he felt that he was winning.
Dick drew himself to his knees. Ere he could gain his feet Bert landed a smashing blow on his left cheek. Down went Dick again.
"Stop that sort of thing, Dodge!" flared Dave Darrin. "Either man who goes down must have safety until he's on his feet again."
"Shut up!" flared Bert, but this time he waited, afraid to try to hit his opponent until Dick was on his feet.
"Can't Dodge run his own fight, hang you?" Bayliss demanded.This was the first word he had had the courage to utter.
Quick as a flash Dave wheeled, running toward Dodge's companion.
"This isn't wholly Dodge's fight, Bayliss," Darry cried, his anger at a white heat. "Prescott has some rights in the game, and you know it, too."
"You're too fresh!" snapped Bayliss.
"You're no good, Bayliss," Darry remarked contemptuously.
"You're a sneak and a liar, and so——-"
"And so I shall claim some of your time just as soon as Dick andDodge have finished," retorted Darry coldly. "Don't forget that,Bayliss, and don't show yourself up by trying to run away."
With that Darrin stalked back to watch the finish of the present affair.
Dick, on his feet again, renewed the battle in earnest. He found Dodge a really worthy opponent. Both boys soon had bruised faces to show.
Smash! That blow, delivered by Bert, almost ended the fight. Dick staggered backward, the blood beginning to flow from his nose.
Dodge followed it up, driving in another hard blow. The pain stung Dick, not to madness, but into a more resolute defense, with more of offense in it.
Then Dick so manoeuvred that he had Dodge between himself and the shore of the lake. This advantage gave young Prescott slightly higher ground on the gentle slope toward the lake. Bert tried to manoeuvre for a more level footing, but Prescott drove him slowly backward.
Suddenly one of Dick's blows landed, with staggering force, on the tip of Dodge's chin. Bert went to earth, rolling over as he struck, and lying face downward. He was not knocked out, but he had had enough.
For a moment or two Dick glanced down at his adversary in cold contempt. Then suddenly, without a word, he bent over, seizing Dodge by the shirt collar and belt, and threw him sprawling out into the lake.
Young Dodge landed some distance from the bank. There was a loud splash and a yell from the vanquished one, then a gurgling noise as Bert's mouth went under water. He disappeared under the black surface of the lake.
Dick waited calmly, ready to go to Dodge's assistance if needed.Bert, however, rose quickly, the water not much above his knees.
"You loafer!" hissed Dodge, dashing the water from his face.
"Haven't you had enough?" asked Prescott mildly. "Didn't the water cool you off?"
Dodge didn't reply, but he walked a few steps away before attempting to step on dry land, thus avoiding his late opponent.
"That little business is all over," declared Tom Reade coolly. "Bend down by the water, Dick, and I'll wash your nose with my handkerchief. Greg, bring one of the lanterns here."
"Now, I guess it's time for our practice, Bayliss," Dave announced, stepping over to Bert's companion.
"I've got to look after Dodge," mumbled Bayliss.
"No, you don't!" Dave warned him. "After the kind of language you have used to me you can't slip out of trouble quite so easily as all that. Get ready."
"Quit—-can't you?" protested Bayliss.
"No; not unless you'll admit that you lied when you applied disagreeable names to me," said Dave Darrin firmly. "Bayliss, are you ready to admit that you are a liar?"
"You bet I'm not!" cried the other hoarsely. "Then back up your words! Ready! Here's something coming!"
That "something" arrived. Bayliss fairly gasped as Darrin started in on him.
But Dave drew back, holding up his fists.
"You didn't get started fairly, Bayliss," Darry declared. "I want you to have as fair a show as possible. Draw in a deep breath. Fill your lungs with air. Plant your feet firmly. Put up your hands."
Patiently Darry waited for perhaps three quarters of a minute.
"Now!" he said at last.
Then the fight went on, but it was one sided. Had Bayliss done himself justice, it might have resulted in a draw, at least, for Bayliss was strong and quick. But he lacked courage.
Presently Bayliss, considerably battered, though not as severely punished as Dodge had been, went down to his knees, nor would he rise.
"Going to get up and go on?" demanded Darry, pausing before him."Or do you quit?"
Bayliss, breathing hard, did not answer.
"What you need here," declared the farmer, stepping forward and puffing slowly at his pipe, "is a referee. I'll take the job. Bayliss, if you believe that you can do anything more, then the place for you is on your feet. I'll give you until I count five."
Deliberately the farmer counted, but Bayliss remained on his knees.
"Bayliss loses," announced the farmer. "Not that I believe he ever had much in the fighting line to lose, but he loses."
"I'll wait five minutes for him," offered Darry. "By that time he'll be in shape to go on again."
"He's in good enough shape now," declared the self-appointed referee."The point is that Mr. Bayliss hasn't any liking for boxing.He's the kind of young man that finds croquet strenuous enough!"
The four recent combatants now had some repairing to do. Dick and Dave were attended by their own friends. The farmer offered to help Bert Dodge ease his bruises. Greg made a tender of his services to Bayliss, but was gruffly repulsed.
"Everything is over," called the farmer at last. "I must wake up my horses and get on to Gridley. Young gentlemen, I'm much obliged for the rest that my horses have had, and also for my entertainment. Dodge, I don't believe you're really worth an ounce of soda crackers, but I realize that you don't feel as bright as usual, so I'm going to help you get the tires on your car."
Reaching up, the farmer untied one end of the line on which the tires hung. Letting the tubes fall at his feet. The man then drew a card out of his pocket and handed it to Reade.
"That will tell you who I am, if you ever want to find me," suggested the farmer.
"George Simpson," said Tom, reading the card. "Mr. Simpson, we're certainly glad of having had the pleasure of meeting you."
Reade thereupon gravely introduced the other members of Dick &Co.
"Glad to have met you, boys," said Simpson, picking up the tires."Now, come along, Dodge and Bayliss, if you want my help, forI really must be moving."
"This hasn't been such a dull evening, after all," jovially commented Tom Reade, after the late visitors had vanished into the darkness surrounding the camp.
"I'm sorry for the fighting, though," mused Dick aloud. "I don't enjoy anything that makes bad blood, or more bad blood, between human beings."
"You couldn't do anything else but fight," retorted Greg sharply.
"That's the only reason why I fought," Prescott rejoined.
Half or three quarters of an hour later two resonant honks sounded from the red Smattach automobile up at the roadside. Dick & Co. rightly judged that Simpson had taken this means of signaling them that the Smattach car was ready to go on its way again.
"What's the matter with Mr. Simpson?" Tom demanded at the top of his voice.
From the throats of all of Dick & Co. came the ready response!
"He's all right!"
Honk! honk! honk! Mr. Simpson had heard this tribute to himself. Then the chugging of a starting car was heard. The noise soon sounded fainter, then died away.
"That's the last of the firm of Dodge and Bayliss for this season!" chuckled Dave Darrin.
In this conclusion, however, it was wholly probable that Darry was wrong. He would have been sure of it, himself, had he been privileged to hear the talk of Bert Dodge and his companion as the enraged and humiliated pair drove swiftly over the rough road on their way back to Gridley.
"I can't think of anything bad enough to call Dick Prescott," growled Bert, who sat at the steering wheel.
"Don't try to," grumbled Bayliss. "It would poison your mind."
"The mucker!"
"The sneak!"
"The coward! He fights only when he has his gang with him."
"I don't see what the high school fellows can find to admire in that crowd," quivered Bayliss, tenderly fingering his damaged eye.
"Never mind what anyone thinks of them!" raged Bert Dodge. "We've nothing but our own side of the affair to settle!"
"What do you mean?" asked Bayliss curiously.
"Bayliss, what do you think I am?"
"Oh, I guess you're a pretty good sort of fellow, Bert."
"Do you think I'd let business like to-night's go by without resenting it?"
"Are you going to try to take Prescott on again?" Bayliss asked wonderingly.
"I'm not a fool!" retorted Dodge indignantly. "Prescott might thrash me again. Bayliss, I'm going to hit him with the kind of club that he can't beat!"
"Is the club big enough to take care of Darrin, too?"
"I'm after the whole Prescott gang, for good measure!" Bert raged.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll let you in on it, Bayliss, when I have all the details planned—-if you've nerve enough to do a man's part—-of which I'm not too sure," Dodge finished under his breath.
"You may count on me for anything—-anything that is prudent!"Bayliss declared.
"Look at that!" cried Tom Reade, leaping up from the breakfast table so precipitately that he overturned his cup of coffee.
"What?" demanded Greg.
"Didn't you see that—-out on the lake?" Tom demanded.
"I didn't see anything," Greg admitted.
"There it goes again!" cried Tom.
"Oh, I saw something rise from the water and fall back again," continued Greg.
"Do you know what it was?" Reade insisted.
"No."
"That was a black bass!" declared Reade, as though it were one of the seven wonders of the world.
"Keep cool, Reade," chaffed Danny Grin. "We all knew, that there are fish in the lake."
"But black bass——-" choked Tom.
"Are they any better eating than any other fish?" asked Hazelton.
"Not so much better," Reade confessed. "But black bass are gamey, and hard fish to land when you hook 'em!"
"They're no better food, but it's harder work to get them," laughedGreg. "Sit down, Tom, and keep cool"
"No real fisherman would ever talk that way," Tom insisted indignantly. "The greatest charm about fishing comes in hooking and landing the really good fighting fish!"
"How much does a black bass weigh?" asked Greg.
"That one probably weighed four pounds. Look! look! There he goes again. Did you fellows see him?"
"There isn't any four pound fish in water that can give me a fight," Danny Grin asserted solemnly. "I'd be ashamed to talk about having a fight with a four pound fish. It looks small and mean to me."
"Well, go after some bass, if they're so easy to catch," urged Greg. "I'll look on and see if you've over estimated your ability as a fisherman."
"You're a fine fisherman, aren't you?" demanded Tom scornfully.
"No fisherman at all," Holmes promptly confessed.
"If you knew the A-B-C of fishing," Reade continued, "you'd know that one must have a boat in order to go after bass."
"Don't they ever come near enough to shore to be caught without the aid of a boat?" Danny Grin demanded.
Tom snorted.
"Tell me," insisted Dalzell.
"You're stringing me," protested Tom.
"No; I'm after information," Dan asserted.
"If you really don't know," Tom resumed, "I'll tell you that black bass are generally caught only by trolling for them. That is, if I fish for bass I've got to keep playing my line over the stern while someone else rows the boat."
"You've a positive genius for picking out the easy half of the job," Danny Grin murmured admiringly.
"The trolling part of the job merely looks easy," Tom went on, good-humoredly. "The fellow who is doing the fisherman act must have all the brains, while the fellow at the oars may be a real dolt, for all he has to know. I'll take you out with me after black bass, Danny, if we can get hold of a boat one of these days."
"Who'll do the rowing?" asked Dalzell suspiciously.
"Naturally you will," was Reade's answer.
"Can't we find a boat somewhere about here?" asked Hazelton eagerly.
"I haven't seen one on any part of the lake that is visible from here," Prescott put in. "I don't know why, but this so called second lake doesn't seem to be a popular spot. There isn't a house to be seen anywhere along the shore on either side, and I doubt if there's a boat on this sheet of water."
"I don't believe there is a boat, either—-and just look at that!" cried Reade, as three distinct splashes about an eighth of a mile out showed how frequently the bass were leaping.
"It's tough—-not to have a chance at good sport!" declared Dave Darrin impatiently. "We fellows ought to search this old shore, anyway, to see if we can't find some sort of craft."
"Come along, then!" urged Tom, leaping to his feet. "I can't stand this state of affairs much longer. Look at that, out there. Four bass jumping within fifteen seconds. This is cruelty to fishermen!"
"Tom, you take Dan and Harry, and go up along the shore," proposed Dick. "I'll take the others with me, and we'll go down along the shore. Each party will walk and search for half an hour, and then return, unless we find a boat sooner."
"Aren't you going to leave someone to watch the camp?" asked DannyGrin.
"It is hardly necessary," decided Prescott.
"But Bert Dodge——-" suggested Greg.
"For Dodge to be out here so early he'd have to be up by five in the morning, and make an early start," Dick rejoined. "I don't believe he's industrious enough for that."
"The camp will be all right," Dave agreed.
"Of course," Tom assented. "Anyway, there's nothing here worth stealing that would be small enough to carry away."
"Except the food," hinted Danny Grin.
"This is too far off the main roads for tramps to come this way,"Dick replied.
So Dalzell, with a sigh, rose to accompany Reade and Hazelton.
Dick and his two companions thoroughly explored the shore as far as they went on the lower part of the lake. From time to time Prescott consulted his watch. In all the time that they were out they passed only one building, a tumble-down, weather-beaten shack that looked as though it had not been inhabited in twenty years. Not even a vestige of a craft was found.
"It's time to go back," said Dick at last. "Too bad we couldn't find anything."
"There must have been boats on this lake at one time," hinted Dave, "or else there wouldn't be that broken-down old pier near the camp."
"I guess there was a time when this lake was a fishing ground to supply the Gridley and other near-by markets," Dick went on. "But, fellows, there's a curious thing about these fish markets that I don't know whether you've noticed. There are several fish stores in Gridley, and yet in all of them you couldn't buy a pound of fish except the kinds that are caught in salt water. I wonder if there are any fish markets in this part of the country that make a specialty of fresh-water fish?"
More slowly, Dick, Dave and Greg retraced their steps.
"Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo!" signaled Dick as they neared their camp.
From away up the shore the answering "hoo hoo!" came faintly.
"Tom didn't give up the search as easily as we did," commented Dave. "Poor old chap, he will be seriously disappointed if he hasn't found something that will float. He's the one sincere fisherman of the crowd, and the bass certainly have hypnotized him."
"Race you back to camp," offered Dick.
"Come back," laughed Dave, "and make a fair start."
But Dick kept on, laughing back at his distanced comrades. Prescott ran like a deer, as was to be expected from one who had played left end on the invincible Gridley High School eleven.
Just as he bounded on to the camp ground Dick's glance fell on a packing box some four feet long.
"This doesn't belong here," he muttered, bounding forward, then dropping on one knee beside the box.
In amazed wonder he read the following inscription, from a card tacked to the box:
"Will Dick Prescott accept the enclosed and keep it as trustee for Dick & Co.? From a most appreciative friend—-two of them, in fact!"
"Now, what on earth can this be?" Dick demanded, as Dave reached his side.
Darry read the message on the card with growing wonder.
"Greg," directed Dick, "trot into the camp and get a hammer and the cold chisel. Hustle!"
Full of curiosity, Greg Holmes carried out the order at a run.
"Here you are!" panted Holmes.
Dick took the cold chisel, placed the edge against one side of the lid, and was about to strike the first blow when Darry snatched the hammer from his hand.
"What ails you?" Prescott demanded.
"Suspicion," Dave replied dryly. "In fact, I've a bad case of suspiciousness."
"What are you talking about?" Dick insisted.
"I don't know," Dave admitted. "But I've something of a shivery hunch that perhaps we'd better not open that box."
"What, then? Toss it into the lake?"
"Even that might not be as foolish as it sounds to you," Darry went on. "How do we know what that box contains!"
"We never will know until we open it," declared Greg impatiently.
"And then we might be mighty sorry that we opened it," Dave continued.
"You think that there is something suspicious about the box?" queried Prescott.
"Oh, the box looks all right," Dave laughed. "But the contents might prove more than a disappointment. A real danger, for instance."
"Do you really think so?" Dick mused wonderingly.
"Well, let's not be too rash," Darrin urged. "When I try to think of the friends who might take the trouble to come away out here to leave something for us, about the dearest friends I can think of are—-Dodge and Bayliss."
"And what would they leave in the box for us?" pondered Prescott.
"Anything from a nest of rattlesnakes to an infernal machine,"Greg Holmes suggested.
"That doesn't sound quite reasonable," Dick replied slowly. "Neither Dodge nor Bayliss amount to much, and both fellows are pretty mean; but do you imagine they would dare do anything that might come very close to murder? I don't."
"Oh, well, open the box, then," Dave agreed. "Whatever may be in it of a dangerous nature, I'll stand by and take my share of it."
"A few minutes won't make any difference," said Dick, rising and dropping hammer and chisel. "We'll wait until the rest of the fellows come in, and then we'll hold a pow-wow and vote on what's to be done."
"Tom! Oh, Tom! Fellows! Hoo-hoo!" roared Greg, making a megaphone of his hands.
"Wha-at's wa-anted?" came Reade's hail, still from a distance.
"Hurry up!" yelled Greg. "Hustle. Big doings here!"
"Have you found a boat?" came Tom's query.
"No! But—-hustle! Run!"
Greg was alive with curiosity. He could not wait. If the box were to be opened only after a pow-wow, then the sooner the council were held the sooner the mystery of the box's contents would be solved.
Tom, Dan and Harry came in at a trot.
"What's all the row about?" Reade demanded.
"That," stated Greg, pointing to the packing case.
"What's in it?" asked Reade.
"We don't know," said Dick.
"I fail to see what's to hinder you from knowing," retorted Reade."I see that you have the tools for opening the case at hand.What were you waiting for—-my strong arm on the hammer? Ifso——-"
While speaking Tom had been glancing at the inscription on the card.
"I don't know just whether we ought to open it," Dave declared. "That box may come from Dodge and Bayliss, and we may be sorry that we meddled with it."
"There may be something in that," agreed Reade, laying down hammer and chisel and rising. "But I wish we knew."
"We all wish that," said Greg.
"Well, what are we going to do?" inquired Hazelton. "Are we going to remain afraid of the box and shy away from it?"
"I'm not afraid," replied Darrin, his color rising. "I'm willing to open it if you fellows say so."
"Then what has kept you back so far?" Tom wanted to know.
"If it's a job put up by Dodge and Bayliss, then I don't just like to be caught napping by them," Dave replied. "However, you fellows all get back a few rods—-and here goes for little David to solve the box mystery."
"Not!" advised Reade with emphasis. "I suppose we'll have to do something with this box, sometime, but I, for one, am in favor of considering the matter for a little while before we go any further. Dave, you are a foxy one, but I'm glad you are. It may save us all trouble."
So the box lay there through the forenoon, and Dick & Co. did little else but wonder and guess as to its contents.
Any member of Dick & Co. would have taken the risk of opening it, had he been chosen by his comrades to do so; but not one of them wanted one of the other fellows to take the risk.
In the meantime Greg Holmes could scarcely curb his rising curiosity.
The noon meal had been eaten, and the camp put to rights. The water before them and the woods behind them called to nature-loving Dick & Co., yet the invitations were ignored.
What could be in the innocent-looking box? That was the question that held six minds in the thraldom of curiosity.
"I can't stand this suspense any longer!" muttered Reade towards three o'clock in the afternoon.
"Open the box yourself," prompted Danny Grin.
"I will," offered Reade, advancing toward the box. "I don't care if it's a ton of dynamite, all fixed up with clock work and automatic fuses. I want to find it out."
But Greg Holmes sprang forward.
"Wait just a little longer, Tom," he urged. "Dick will be back in a few minutes and then we'll get him to agree to it."
"Dick Prescott doesn't open the box," Tom retorted.
"It's addressed to him, anyway," said Greg firmly.
"I guess that's right," interposed Dave, nodding. "And Dick will be here soon."
Dick reappeared within five minutes. He had taken two buckets and had gone to a spring at some distance from camp for water.
"Dick," said Greg, "there's Tom on the ground on the other side of that tree. He's growling like a Teddy bear because no one has opened the box."
"I think we'd better open it," nodded Prescott, after glancing at the faces of the others, for he saw that their curiosity was at fever heat.
"Hooray!" yelled Greg. "Come on, fellows!"
There was a rush for the hammer and cold chisel, but young Holmes won.
"You pry the lid up on one side, and then give me a chance at the other side," proposed Tom Reade.
But Greg, smiling quietly, soon had the entire lid off the box.
Nothing but a lot of multi-colored, curly packing paper met their gaze.
"The world destroyer must be underneath this ton of rubbish," grunted Darry, kneeling and prying the strings of paper out.
At last he delved down to a parcel wrapped in stout manila paper and securely tied with cord.
"Cut the strings," advised Reade, passing Dave a pocket knife with one blade open.
Darrin, however, had lifted the parcel out to lay it on the ground. It was fairly heavy, but Dave handled it with ease. Now he cut the strings. As the papers were pushed aside he and the others saw nothing at first but a lot of khaki-colored canvas.
"Fellows," declared Dick, "I don't believe this is a practical joke, at all. It looks to me as though someone had sent us something very much like a cook tent."
All thought of danger having now passed, Prescott and his comrades unfolded the canvas. At the bottom of the package they found something that caused them to send up a wild hurrah.
Two daintily modeled white maple paddles lay there. There were two other objects made of wood that looked like seats.
"Fellows," gasped Dick, "don't you understand what this is?"
"I do," nodded Tom huskily. "I do, if not another soul in the world does. Fellows, it's a collapsible canoe, all ready to set up and run into the water. It's our boat, that we've been wanting so badly. It's a beauty! Oh, shake it out! Lay it and let's put the braces in! I shan't be able to breathe again until I see this thing of beauty floating on the water!"
Yet Tom was no more excited than were the other members of Dick & Co. All took a hand, and all tried to work so nimbly that they got considerably in the way of one another. Yet at last the canoe was ready to be picked up and carried to the lake's edge.
"Here's even a painter to tie it to a tree with," shouted Dave."Say! Whoever bought this canoe knew all about one!"
"Don't anyone try to get into the craft yet," ordered Dick, as the canoe was slid out upon the water, Prescott holding the painter, which he tied around a sapling growing near the water's edge. "We want to make sure that this canoe is waterproof. If it stands twenty minutes without taking in water we'll know it's all right."
Since they couldn't board the canoe, these delighted boys joined hands, dancing about in a ring. Then, suddenly, they started off in burlesqued figures of an Indian war-dance, whooping like mad.
While the excitement was at its height, Reade suddenly seized Hazelton by his collar, rushing him to the lake. Into it went both boys, Tom ducking Harry's head under the water.
"Wha-a-at's that for?" sputtered Hazelton as soon as he could talk.
"Because you needed it," replied Tom soberly. "Will you kindly do as much for me? We were all such chumps that we cheated ourselves out of the best black bass fishing to-day that ever mortal saw. So we all ought to be ducked."
Harry stared at his friend in some astonishment.
"On second thought, though," concluded Reade, "you needn't duck me. You may postpone it. I'm going bass fishing the very instant that the canoe is judged to be safe."
"And I'll be the bass-hunting pin-head who merely does the paddling," proposed Danny Grin meekly.
"I guess you're the biggest pin-head in camp, all right—-after myself," nodded Reade. "So we ought to hit it off as bass fishermen, Danny boy."
"Fellows," hinted Dick judicially, "I think we had better turn the canoe over to Tom for the first trip. His craze to go bass fishing is so acute that it fairly pains him. Tom can have the first trip, can't he?"
There was a general assent. Tom darted away to overhaul such tackle as he had for bass fishing. He came back with a small but tough jointed rod, some very long lines, and some flashily, bright spoons.
"Danny, get a shovel and dig for some grubs," Tom ordered, as he sorted tackle. "When you can't fool black bass with one thing you must try another. If you fellows see any tiny chubs swimming about in the little coves here, try to get a lot of them. We can keep them in a bucket of water. Perch? Bah! The real fishing is about to begin now!"
"Do you really expect to get any bass today, Tom?" Dick inquired.
"Hard to say," replied Reade, shaking his head as he glanced up from the tackle he was overhauling to look out upon the lake. "I haven't seen a single bass jump in five hours now. But I may get two or three. I certainly will, if the bass are sportsmanlike enough to give me any show at 'em."
By the time that Tom had his tackle in shape Dick and Dave pronounced the canoe wholly water tight. Dan Dalzell, equipped with one of the paddles, took a kneeling position just back of the bow seat. Tom got in next, squatting with his face to the stern of the canoe. None of the others were to go. At a pinch this ten-foot canoe might hold three, but fishermen as a rule do not care to have extra passengers in their boats.
"Give 'em a cheer, boys!" cried Darry, as Danny Grin, with a few deft strokes of the paddle, propelled the craft away from the shore.
"And let that cheer be the last," called back Tom, in a low voice that nevertheless traveled backward over the water. "Don't frighten my bass from coming up to take a look at me."
"Tom surely is the sincere old bass fisher, isn't he?" demandedHarry Hazelton.
"I don't know," Dick made answer. "We can tell better when we've seen him hook and land a few fish."
"Paddle slowly right across the lake, Danny," begged Tom, watching his trolling line.
From the camp the boys watched until they grew tired of the monotony. Reade did not seem destined to secure a single "strike" from bass that afternoon.
"At half-past four o'clock," proposed Darrin, "I'll go down to the old pier and see what I can do toward catching a string of perch for to-night."
"I'll go with you," nodded Hazelton.
"All right," agreed Dick. "Greg and I will get in the water and wood, and see to whatever else we're to have for supper. I don't believe Tom will bring us anything."
Nor did Reade himself believe it. For two solid hours Dan Dalzell paddled lazily wherever his skipper told him to. The nearest that Tom seemed destined to get a "strike" was when his hook caught in the weeds.
At last they were some distance out on the lake, perhaps a hundred and fifty yards from shore. Reade, wholly discouraged, was about to give the order to make for camp.
Turning about in the canoe, Reade discovered that Dalzell was in a brown study, slowly lifting his paddle and lifting it out again, but without watching his course.
"Look out, Danny boy," cautioned Tom, "or you'll scratch the sides of the canoe on those bushes right ahead."
Dan glanced up with a start, backing water. They had now passed in under the shadow of trees, for the sun was low, and it was somewhat dark and gloomy in there.
"It's queer for bushes to be growing so far out from shore," mutteredTom, "and it shows how shallow the water must be about here.You had better back water out of here, Danny."
Dalzell was about to do so when his glance fell on something that halted his arm.
In the same moment Tom Reade saw the object that had arrestedDan's attention.
From between the bushes peered a pair of deep-set, frightened eyes that looked out from the haggard, despairing face of a man whose head alone was visible.
Just for the moment neither Tom nor Dalzell could really guess whether the face belonged to the living or the dead. The sight caused cold shivers to run up and down their spines, for that face was ghastly and haunting in the extreme.
But quickly Tom Reade found his voice sufficiently to ask huskily:
"What's your trouble, my friend?"